


her weedy trophies and herself; fell in the weeping brook

by Waistcoat35



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crushes, Cute, First Kiss, Fluff, Funny, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, Modern Era, Phillip Has a Cat, Pre-Slash, Shakespeare References, These dumb idiots, rated T for some swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 00:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: It's all the cat's fault - now he's about six feet off the ground clutching a tree branch, all the while attempting to make conversation with the most brilliant man he's ever laid eyes upon.





	her weedy trophies and herself; fell in the weeping brook

 

Phillip’s stupid cat is the biggest asshole _ever_. The thing refuses to listen to reason, and so far he has offered up all manner of god-given luxuries such as sardines, prawns, whipping cream, and catnip – to absolutely no result. Since when did cats know how to open window latches, anyway?

The creature has now managed to haul itself over his garden fence and make its way into a garden a street away – he has watched its progress from his window, hissing at it to _stop_ and _wait_ and _get the hell back here, you little jerk_. It would seem that his cat has no interest in such a thing, so he hurriedly shrugs on his coat and takes the stairs two at a time, racing across the street just in time to catch a fluffy calico tail vanish through the gap.

Son of a _bitch_.

After trying (and failing) to squeeze through the opening himself, he throws caution to the wind and begins scaling the fence, all the while scanning around for the elderly busybodies this street is usually flooded with. Once he hits the ground on the other side, wincing at the squelch his shoes make in the moist earth, he crouches low as he hurries across the lawn. He prays to God that whoever owns the house doesn’t have a porch light – if his parents hear that he was found breaking into some random guy’s backyard, it’ll be far more than his life’s worth. His parents would probably agree with that sentiment, to be honest.

Phillip skids to a stop at the trunk of the old willow tree near the back door – dangerously near. His cat is currently nestled in the crook of two branches, in the upper boughs of the tree. He is torn between bribing her with caviar and threatening to murder her. Squeezing through the thin gaps between each branch, he swears and grunts several times as his coat is caught and soiled and probably torn irreparably. All he wanted – literally _all_ he _wanted_ – was to have a quiet evening settling into his new apartment, with his cat curled around his feet while he worked on the draft for his newest play. Or _tried_ to, anyway.

He finally reaches her, and by now she seems to have seen the error of her little escapade. If cats could look sheepish, she certainly does right now, ears flattened back as she scrambles into his lap, hiding her face in his shoulder. She has chosen precisely this moment to realise that she’s scared of heights – this is why he shouldn’t have gotten an _indoor_ cat. The trouble comes in that she’s a Norwegian Forest Cat – and trust him, they’re _heavy_. Phillip hastily rearranges himself on the branch so that he can bear her weight without falling, one leg over each side of the branch. The wind’s picking up as it starts to spit with rain, and the cat’s fur is blowing into his eyes, but even as she _mrowl_ s unhappily he shushes her and scratches her behind the ear. He can’t blame her, really – the move’s been weird for both of them.

His sympathy evaporates once again, however, when there is a rustling noise and their faces are bathed in warm, golden-yellow light. Oh. Oh, _crap_.

The branch is facing a window, and the curtains have been drawn – the tree is creaking under their continuously shifting combined weight, of course the owner must have heard them, he’s stupid, stupid, _stupid_ –

“Why, hello there!”

He looks up from pinching the bridge of his nose, tensed and waiting for the screaming match to begin, and _Jesus._ Of all the backyards to sneak into, his cat chose the right one. Right now, Phillip is faced with an inexplicably _handsome_ man – friendly, mirthful hazel eyes are watching him, the light in them seeming to dance as they peek out from underneath dark, tousled curls. The man is wearing a charming (albeit slightly confused) smile, and that smile seems to be directed at _him_ , and oh God, oh God, Phillip’s pretty sure he’s gaping like he’s Icarus looking up at the sun. Finally coming back to his senses, (at least slightly, anyway,) he shifts backwards on the branch, back pressing against the tree’s trunk. He’s definitely blushing.

“Oh, God – uh, hi?” God _dammit_. “Look, I-I’m really sorry, honestly, I swear I can explain what I’m doing here.” He’s even _stammering_ , wow, look at Phillip Carlyle and his absolutely _amazing_ conversational skills. The man still seems relatively unfazed, to his credit – if he looked out of his own window to see an odd young man clutching a cat while sitting in his tree, Phillip would probably be far less understanding.

“I’d be happy to hear it – it looks to be a _very_ interesting tale.” The way he rolls the _r_ on his tongue is doing things to Phillip’s brain. Dangerous things; he’s quite sure of it. The man holds his hand out, leaning ever so slightly out of the window. “Phineas Taylor Barnum, at your service.” There’s that _smile_ again, why does the world hate him? Phillip can only stammer a few syllables with a vague resemblance to his name, and it’s a struggle to shake the man – _Phineas_ – ‘s hand with his armfuls of cat, but it looks warm and soft despite its callouses and so he tried. Their fingers brush awkwardly, and he clings on for a few more seconds than he ought to.

“My – my cat, you see, we’re new around here and she’s a little freaked out, so she decided to make a break for it, and – well – we ended up here. I’m so sorry, again, I haven’t damaged anything, I’ll just get her down and I’ll leave you in peace, _please_ , I-“

The man reaches out and grabs his fingers once again, brushing the pads of his own fingers over Phillips before stroking them slightly in reassurance. “Whoa, whoa, slow down, buddy! I’m not mad or anything, it’s hardly your fault if the little lady here decided to go explore by herself.”

“But I-“

“You’re not in trouble. Honest, - Pip, was it?”

“Phillip. Carlyle.” His tongue is slowly becoming a useless piece of flesh in his mouth.

The man quirks an eyebrow. “Not as in-“

Phillip cringes back again. That was a mistake, dear Lord – “Yes – yes, that Carlyle. Don’t tell my parents, they can’t know – please?” Something in Phineas’ face softens even further, and he seems to take pity on this strange man facing his balcony. The cat is becoming impatient now, her tail flicking at his face every so often as she kneads his shoulder with her paws.

“You have nothing to worry about, honestly, Phil. Sorry, slip of the tongue – is it alright to call you that? Phil?”

“Yeah, that’s fine, that’s – that’s _great_.” _NO._ He is _messing up_. Just _no_. They’re still linking fingers. Is that a good thing? Phillip can’t think very much right now, but the fluttering in his ribcage and the tingle in his spine are telling him that’s very good indeed. He becomes far more certain of this when the man’s smile becomes an almost blinding grin. How can he have fallen in love this quickly, that’s like something out of Shakespeare, that isn’t supposed to happen –

“If I may be so bold as to ask, Phil –“ Phillip.exe has stopped working, the way Phineas says his name so fondly, as though it is a cherished trinket or a beloved thing – _aghhhh_.

“What’s this young lady’s name, then?”

Phillip tries to reel his senses back in from where they’d fled like fish in the deep, turning the cat around to face Barnum. Unfortunately, this means their hands part ways for a moment, and he pines the loss. “Oh, right – her name’s Opheli _aaaa_!”

Moving was a mistake; the branch breaks.

The next thing he knows, he’s hanging from a much lower branch with an extremely disturbed cat clinging to his head. Of course, this situation isn’t _nearly_ as bad when, after an alarmed cry, he hears a soft chuckle and the cat is pried from his head as gently as possible. Those hands brush his scalp in the process, and the soft, pleased noise he makes is probably embarrassing _everyone_. Arms carefully take his waist in hand, a voice whispering in his ear suddenly. The man’s tone is even richer up close – he could narrate plays in that voice, maybe he’d like to be Phillip’s narrator, it’d be great, he could – _oh_.

He has been set on the ground and turned around, still incredibly gently, and now that face is very warm and very close. This may just be the greatest day of his so far awful life. He is very warm, and there’s still an arm around his waist – he shifts to touch hands with Phineas again, and the man has seemingly only just realised he’s still touching Phillip.

“Oh, my – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I really hope I didn’t make you uncomfort- _oh_.” He sounds the way Phillip thought when they first saw each other. He’s moved forward so they’re just brushing noses, and those warm, _kind_ eyes– that’s the word for it, he’s found it now, _kind_ ; no wonder it took so long, he’s experienced it so sparingly – well, they look like they want to wrap him in blankets and hold him close. How great minds think alike.

His previously blazing fear has dimmed to an irregular spark in the back of his minds, and they lean forward as one into the kiss. The older man is rather taller up close, and he gently claims Phillip’s mouth, seemingly pulling him up to the heavens with him as he does so. Phillip truly is Icarus – he saw the sun, fell, rose again. That part’s new – he’s gotten far too used to just the falling part by now. He presses back into Phineas' warmth, shyly moving his own lips against Phineas' soft, dry ones.

He could probably quite happily stay this way all evening, but they're interrupted by an irritable meow. Looking down, they see Ophelia sitting and watching them, fur still ruffled from her unexpected flight. Though they make noises of mutual disappointment as they part, Phillip leans down and carefully balances her weight in his arms once again. Phineas clears his throat, and Phillip smiles up at him, tilting his head to show he's listening. 

"You know, I - only if you'd like to, of course, but you're welcome to come in. You could probably use a drink after what you've just been through." Despite the warmth Phineas emanates, Phillip is now beginning to notice the cold wind slyly sneaking in through the shreds in his jacket. It's as though Barnum has read his mind.

"I've got hot chocolate - brownies, too, if that'll sweeten the pot for you. I can probably find some tuna for this beautiful young lady." Ophelia readily voices her approval of the idea. Phillip does too, leaning into Phineas' side as they head into the building.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood, by the way."

"That's usually said when you pass your new neighbour in the corridor, Phineas - you decided to wait until after we kissed to voice that sentiment?" 

"I'll practice the usual etiquette when we meet in a usual way, Phillip."

"Touché, but in that case I think you'll be waiting for quite a while."

**Author's Note:**

> So I know next to nothing about Shakespeare, but given that Phillip's a playwright I decided to do my homework and weave some in. Can anybody spot all of the references in here? There's one about Phin's garden I'm particularly proud of...


End file.
